Malcontent
by wexilctnaueij
Summary: Atobe Keigo, company CEO discontent with his life, receives a cruelly-worded wedding invitation from his former lover - Echizen Ryoma - that sends him spiraling in search of closures and happy endings.


The man in the air-conditioned room had had his face in his hands the entire afternoon, and while he was not asleep - Egawa Setsuko, his personal assistant had checked in on him just half an hour ago - he was not truly awake, either.

Perhaps, if tiredness could assume a human form, it would do so in the shape of of Atobe Keigo.

He imagined birds chirping outside his window although it was unimaginable that they would, on a hot summer day with the sun unleashing its sadistic tendencies. Cheep cheep. He sighed. Two more clients to meet and flatter into making a deal with his company. Then he could call his day productive; but he couldn't even raise his head from his hands. Exhaustion had settled itself into every cell of his body, and all he wanted to do was go home and do nothing. Nothing at all. Sit on a chair and stare into space.

It was ungrateful of him, of course. He had exercised his selfish tendencies so frequently in his school days that to do the same now would be an abomination, shame unto his father who had given him all he had in life - but clearly a man with involuntarily trembling hands cannot work at full power, or even at half.

"Setsuko," Keigo groaned into the telephone receiver he had just picked up, "A cup of coffee, large, for me, please."

"Sir," Setsuko (the personal assistant) said, at her desk outside the office, her worry clear even via telephone cables, "Perhaps you should take some days off, you aren't doing very well - "

"Two sugars and some milk, that will be all." Keigo replaced the receiver, and sighed. He reached for the topmost file in the _Input _stack - it was a stack, for heaven's sake, Atobe had been slacking off for God knows how long - and flipped it open, reaching for a green pen. He made little notes and annotations in the file, making sure he went through every line in the draft - it was a draft most probably, Atobe couldn't be made to give a shit - before the door opened and his assistant walked in with a steaming mug of coffee.

"You usually have tea, sir." Setsuko's voice was subdued, but her body language showed she was defensive, angry. Indignant, but about what?

"Tea does not keep me awake as it once did, Setsuko. Thank you." Atobe took a long sip of the boiling coffee (Setsuko winced, imagining the scalding liquid flowing down her throat instead).

"Sir, I will resign if this goes on any longer."

Oh, please. Not another problem in this already problematic day. Atobe frowned at her. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

Setsuko's words rose immediately from a comment to an outburst.

"You, sir, you're what is going on. Even when sitting down you look like you need to sit down, and honestly, sir, it's worrying how much you've slogged away. You've barely left your office this last week and I know you'll call even _that _slacking off, but anyone with half a brain can see you've overworked yourself to the point of collapse, and I cannot work for someone who does not take care of himself at all."

She took a deep breath, and flushed crimson, realizing the impact of her rant. Atobe had gone slack-jawed. Slowly, he regained composure.

"I suppose you know how invaluable your services are to me, and hence have taken the opportunity of using them to manipulate me."

She remained mute.

"I do not forgive outbursts such as this, Miss Egawa, but seeing as it was your concern for my health that caused it, I am willing to overlook it. Thank you kindly, please return to your desk."

She apologized and left without another word, still crimson, cursing herself.

Keigo knew there was truth to her words, but it was akin to the sun rising every morning and setting every evening. One learned to ignore it with a lifestyle like Atobe's.

The evening passed. The two clients came and went, happy. Keigo, immaculate in his blue suit and every bit the company CEO, did not let them perceive his tiredness, only his eagerness to enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement with them. The meeting took place in a special conference room on a lower floor in the building. Fluent conversations in German, English and Japanese. Extended handshaking and paper signing. Servings of tea and high-class biscuits. Keigo's handsome smile was ever present on his face, and there was absolutely no change in his countenance throughout the meeting. It left very favourable impressions on the clients, who planned to phone and tell Keigo's retired father that his son was more than excellent at his job.

It was nine pm by the time Keigo was done with his day's work (though the business day had ended much earlier), but he respected his assistant's concern for him, and did leave the building to go home. She called the cab for him. He almost fell asleep in the taxi, but the driver, acutely aware of the identity of the man he was driving, kept him awake and alert. He possibly didn't want to ruin the subsequent sleep Atobe would have in his own bed.

Once he was in the comfort of his own apartment, he let go of the tension that had kept his back ramrod straight, that had glued the smile onto his face. He unbuttoned his blazer and shirt, undid the trousers and slid all of them off, effectively naked with only his boxers (plain black) on him.

As if it knew the minute Keigo was home, the phone rang. Keigo hoped it wasn't another call from his mother about marriage. Or another call from his father about how he wasn't working hard enough.

He picked the phone up.

"Yes?"

"Keigo, you forgot me already?"

A rush of familiarity bounded through Keigo. "As if you would ever let me, Yuushi."

"Weeks of no contact, should I take it you wish to not remain in touch with me?" The accent in Oshitari's voice was endearingly familiar, and just hearing it sent Atobe back to his school days.

"Of course not. How have you been doing?"

"Just fine, Mr. World-Famous-CEO-And-Model. Thank you for finally asking."

Atobe smiled at the address. "I apologize - I should have strived to maintain our friendship - "

"Fucking hell, drop the formality with me. I've seen you naked, I've seen you in the toilet, I've held your hair as you threw up every Saturday in university."

"Leave it to you to say the most embarrassing things I've heard in years."

There was an answering chuckle. "I'm just calling to catch up, Keigo. Are you doing well?"

"Very well, in fact, just closed two deals today with two of Father's previous associates. They seemed pleased."

"Okay, I wasn't calling to catch up, Keigo, listen, there's this girl I'm trying to get with and once she found out I was your best friend in school she wanted a personal photo of you. Now, I understand that may be too much to ask but seeing as how we're best friends - "

But Keigo had already hung up by then. Honestly. Leave it to Oshitari to say the wrong thing at the most inopportune moment.

The phone rang again. Keigo picked it up, knowing it was Oshitari again.

"Yes?"

"I was fucking joking, you idiot."

"Of course you were," Atobe said wryly. "Of course."

"There's two reasons, really, why I'm calling - firstly to check up on you seeing as your mother made a very, ah, distressed phone call to me. Secondly because you're an asshole for not calling first."

"What distressed phone call are you talking about? Mother has never seemed worried about me, she goes on about potential marriage partners every time I talk to her. And you're the asshole, asshole."

"But, Keigo-bocchama, she would never tell you herself that she's worried you're burning yourself out in your attempt to outshine Daddy."

Atobe sighed. "Why is everyone so concerned when I am obviously fine?"

Oshitari sighed into the phone, too. "Keigo, take a break, maybe? Your mother told me you haven't taken even a single day off for three years, I'd be dead by now if I was you."

"You're very lucky you aren't, then," Keigo said quietly. "I'm fine. Please don't worry, and tell Mother I'm fine. I'm hale and hearty, and also tell her, very strictly, to not call my personal assistant at _all_ regarding the matter." She didn't need someone else bolstering her make-Keigo-take-a-break efforts.

"Keep talking, Keigo. I won't let go of you so easily."

"I feel like I'm falling, Yuushi. I'm so fucking unhappy with my life." And there he had been telling him there was nothing wrong just a second ago.

"Come to Osaka, then," Oshitari offered, as if he had known all along. "Rest a bit at my place, take a look at my hospital. Found and pay for the upkeep of a radiology wing."

Atobe chuckled. "Maybe some day, when my schedule is clear."

"Keigo - "

"Thank you for calling, Yuushi. You're a true friend."

"Cut the crap - "

But Keigo, once again, had hung up.

Oshitari didn't call back.

He cooked dinner for himself (chicken, potatoes, and peas) after pulling on a clean shirt, half-buttoning it. If it slid off his shoulders, he let it be because he was in no mood or condition to tolerate more constriction and suffocation.

The silence in the dining room as he ate was deafening, so he went to the living room and turned on the television for the news or an entertainment program. Anything to kill the quiet, really. There was a channel showing tennis match reruns. He stopped at that.

It was a Wimbledon final - the one from four years ago, if he remembered correctly (he did). The first and last time Tezuka Kunimitsu had taken the tennis (and not-tennis) world by storm. He had won all four Grand Slam tournaments that year against the same opponent in each final - the frustration repeatedly showing itself in the familiar scowl of Kaidoh Kaoru.

What a match it had been. The utterly astonishing announcement from the Wimbledon champion, that he would retire at the end of the year. Tezuka had given no reason for this decision. The conspiracy theories and crazed responses after the post-match press conferences. The furore following his exit. The fans threatening suicide. The twitter impersonators going on a rampage. It had been a turbulent year for everyone involved - and Atobe hadn't been exempt at that time. His company had been the one to sponsor Tezuka.

Tezuka had left, he revealed to Atobe, because of an ailment that had plagued him since their middle school days - the hated arm ailment that he had worsened for Seigaku, the ailment for which he had sought treatment in Germany (again funded by Atobe).

Perhaps it was leftover guilt that made Keigo sink into his work. He never rose again from it.

Kaidoh won two of four the following year. And then... Echizen burst onto the scene and made history. Seigaku had grasped the spotlight in middle school, and its members retained it throughout their life, to the anguish of the quarterfinalists, the semifinalists, the runners up.

Keigo slowly washed the utensils he had used, and then dragged himself to the bedroom, immediately collapsing on the perfectly made bed he had left that morning.

* * *

He felt regret the next day. It was the first thing he felt when he woke up at four (for he did not wake up at six anymore), for telling Yuushi that he was not content with his life. He had everything. He was successful as a businessman and as the occasional model. Why would he have anything to be discontent over?

Still he pulled himself out of that mindset and began preparing for the day. Egawa phoned him at eight to ensure he arrived at eight-thirty, for there was someone _very important_, apparently, waiting for him in his office and very adamant about seeing him. More adamant about not leaving despite Egawa gently pressuring him to come back later with an appointment.

"Did this mysterious man tell you his name?"

"No, he just arrogantly _strutted_ into your office five minutes ago, sir, saying you would welcome him with bouquets and showers of rose petals if you knew of his arrival. He did not even _listen_ to my entreaties. I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't prevent him from doing this. Should I call security?"

"Give him the phone," Atobe said, fully intent on having words with him about his brazenness. One does not simply strut into Atobe Keigo's office, especially when he isn't there himself. The _gall_.

"Yes, sir."

Atobe heard muffled sounds of a scraping chair, footsteps, and unclear voices. _He wants to talk to you, please be polite with him, at least._

"Hey, Monkey King," someone said into the phone. Atobe, who had been buttoning his blazer (dull black today), froze. It was him. It was -

"You could refrain from addressing me using words like _those_ in front of my assistant."

"I could, but, Monkey King, I don't want to," the voice on the other end, now linked to Echizen Ryoma, said. "How soon can you come to the office? I've _got_ something for you."

"I will come as and when I want to, and certainly not when you want me to." It would take him twenty minutes to reach his building if he left at that moment. But Atobe was in no mood to humour the brat.

"Please." Ryoma's tone shifted from smug to serious in the span of that word. "I really do have something for you."

"I will come at my regular time. You may take a seat in the waiting lounge _outside_ my office, and expect to meet me at nine. Make the appointment with Egawa right now." Atobe ended the call.

He was ready to leave. He was ready, and a cab that had been called for him was surely idling at the entrance to the apartment block. But he was going to wait until it was eight forty, and _then_ leave.

But - it was _Ryoma._ He hadn't seen him in person in years. Echizen Ryoma.

His former lover. He couldn't _stand by._ Just... somewhere, in Atobe's heart of hearts, he still harbored an affection for him. Perhaps.

So Keigo left at eight ten, arriving at eight thirty sharp. He took the lift to his floor, resolutely refusing to even think about the waiting guest. He stepped out as soon as he reached his floor and the doors were half-open, stepping into the hallway and making for the massive glass doors that separated his lounge and office from the workspaces of his employees who worked on the same floor.

As soon as he pushed them open, his eyes went to the couch where his visitors waited - and found it devoid of Echizen.

Egawa, who had her desk (well, her own workspace) in a part of the lounge, stood up as soon as she saw Keigo.

"Sir, he left."

Keigo looked at her without any expression on his face.

"He left right after the phone call, saying he couldn't be bothered to wait an hour for you."

A sigh left Keigo's mouth without his consent.

He had almost seen him in person. Almost touched him. Had almost breathed the same air as the person who had most influenced his middle school and high school life.

"Was it... really him? Really Echizen Ryoma, the tennis player?" Egawa asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Echizen Ryoma, the star, the toast of the tennis world, the champion. The only tennis player in history to win a singles calendar Grand Slam for _two consecutive years, _surpassing Tezuka and greats like Don Budge and Rod Laver_._ The odds had been unimaginable - and Ryoma had shirked concepts like luck and rivalry and kept his eyes only the trophy each time. It had resulted in a huge increase in public interest in tennis.

"Yes," Atobe said. "Did he leave anything for me?"

"No, sir, he didn't."

The disappointment on Atobe's face must have been palpable, for Egawa hastened to provide more information on Ryoma's leaving: "He looked angry, and had an envelope in his hand."

Atobe nodded, beginning the (now, seemingly long) walk from the entrance to the waiting lounge to the ebony doors of his office. "Thank you, Egawa. Resume your work."

"He also asked me to tell you that he had gotten engaged."

Atobe stopped walking. He was silent for a minute.

"All right. I trust you know not to disclose this information to anybody."

"Of course, sir," said Egawa in a hushed voice.

Atobe closed the ebony doors behind him, and switched on the air conditioner. What a hot, hot day it was. He sat down and powered on his computer. While it hummed to life, Atobe pried open some files he had neglected the day before, and got to work.

Two hours later, he checked his email accounts - both personal and professional - and found a message from his father. Doubtless it was regarding the two clients he had met yesterday. Keigo clicked on the message - it _was_ regarding them. It also contained a rare word of praise for him. Well, that brightened his day slightly.

There was also an email from the person who had come to visit him this morning, dated half an hour after he had left.

_'sup, Atobe._

_Came to Tokyo just to see you today. I got engaged. I wanted to tell you in person._

_I got engaged four months ago, actually - the real news is: I'm getting married in two weeks. Keep this out of the media's reach - but you will, I'm sure your larger-than-life ego won't let you release this info._

_She's a nice girl. Also Japanese - my mom set up the meetings last year, she's the daughter of one of my mom's loaded lawyer friends - she's got a personality you'd appreciate. And she knows about you and my past with you. Thinks I'm all the better for the break-up. __I wanted to give you the wedding invitation in person, but it's just as well we didn't meet today, I would've ended up fucking you on that stupid glass table of yours - or at least making out with you and messing things up with Hotaru. I'm not gonna cheat on her. I like her._

_Aichi Hotaru. __You know her, you've modelled with her enough times. You know she plays tennis too, right?_

_So - here's the wedding invitation - will you come to the US? The wedding is in the US. The 27th of this month. Call me if you're coming, I'll tell you the place and time. Don't bother bringing a plus one to piss me off, you're not that petty and bitter._

_Echizen_

_PS Y__ou might not be petty or bitter, but you _are_ cheap and still hung up on me._

Atobe deleted the email without responding.

"I'm not going to attend," he muttered to himself. "Thinks he can write with perfect grammar and spelling and impress _me_ \- "

His heart was pounding painfully. He took a few deep breaths and tried to completely distract himself. He was Atobe Keigo. Mr. World-Famous-CEO-And-Model. The world swooned for him. Echizen Ryoma was undeserving of his attention now.

Still he remembered the fights. The arguments. The screaming matches. The only times Ryoma truly let his anger through. Damn. Those fights had lasted through middle school, through high school, and the beginning of college had been the breaking point. It was as if both had been _glad_ to see the other's back - no more anguish, no more pain. It is said that you fight most with the ones you love, but Atobe wasn't very sure whether or not what he and Ryoma had felt for each other back then was love, if at all affection.

And he was definitely neither cheap nor still hung up on him. What a terrible thing to say.

It was the wrong time and the wrong place to recollect every aspect of their relationship, but Keigo couldn't help himself. It had been so long since he had last allowed himself to delve into thoughts of his ex-boyfriend. All of his acquaintances and friends shared a common trait: they were known and recognized worldwide, but Echizen was far, far ahead of all of them in terms of income, fame, fan worship, anything. As if he had stepped onto the global stage just when the world had begun to hunger for an attractive, talented, supremely confident recluse.

And - Aichi Hotaru. Yes, he knew her very well. Modest woman. Regardless of the nature of the modelling 'gigs' he had done with her, she had maintained a professional air around him, had never tried to approach him, and was extremely gracious and polite to everyone around her. Atobe had admired her and her demeanour right up until Echizen mentioned her name.

Atobe sighed. He was a mature adult, and he had no right to ruin a perfectly good business day thinking of old flames. Old flame. What an odd, appropriate term to use for Echizen.

He called Egawa in, asking for the first cup of tea of the day.

* * *

Again, it was deep night when Keigo finished working. The perfectly good business day wasn't ruined. He didn't feel exhausted the way he had yesterday. He just wanted to go home and perhaps spend some time listening to Wagner and exercising to tire himself out enough to sleep.

There was always a car in the building's basement area for him whenever he felt like driving home. That day, he felt like driving home.

(It was an Aston Martin. Keigo had a propensity for showing off.)

He appreciated the stares he got on the road - some people knew the car very well, and everyone knew and could see who was inside, driving it - wondering if he should accept the photoshoot offer an über-expensive clothing brand had given him the week before. He smiled for the cellphone cameras almost pressed to the windows at every red light stop - rolled down the window and signed autographs, and no one minded any delay - waved for the fans too awed to approach him. The taxis had been so anonymous, the Aston Martin so overt. Keigo appreciated both.

Pulling into the apartment parking space (where there was always a spot reserved for him), he turned off the car, _what a beauty_, and sat inside it for some time. He was tired. Not physically. But in a way he couldn't express. He was tired of this. His career was geared towards impressing his father, his social life was dedicated to further his career, his professional life was set to accumulate the contacts he would have a social life with - what was this? Where was the tennis-obsessed boy who dreamed of the records his peers had now shattered? Where was the _Be awed at the sight of my prowess_ catchphrase that set fans' hearts aflutter?

His heart sped up at the mere recollection of the rousing _The winner is Hyotei, the winner is Atobe_ chant - the following snap of the fingers that silenced an entire crowd, him announcing _the winner is... _**_me_ **\- the subsequent _roar_

the support of an entire school, the loyalty of his team -

What had happened to him?

He phoned Yuushi in the car.

"Yeah, Atobe."

"Yuushi, he's getting married." He hadn't meant to say it. He had intended to make small talk and then hang up and feel guilty.

Oshitari immediately answered, "I got the invitation in the mail yesterday."

"Was that the real reason for your phone call?"

"Of course, you think your mom even knows you're unhappy?"

"Not particularly." Atobe didn't think he regretted telling Yuushi anymore, seeing as Yuushi had known already.

"Are you okay? I could be in Tokyo in an hour, there's an ANA flight at nine thirty-five and I'm sure they'd let me on if I used my charm on them - "

"Don't bother. I'm fine. He dropped by the office to hand me the invitation in person but left before I arrived. Then he sent me a somewhat acerbic email regarding the same. Did you know it's Aichi he's marrying?"

"Shit, yeah, the model. Fucking gorgeous, what a looker. Of all the people in the world, though, it's someone you know personally."

"He said she knew about our relationship."

"And stayed?"

"Yes."

Oshitari was silent for a while. Atobe said:

"Yuushi, I am tired."

Oshitari said, "I know, Keigo."

"How do you _still_ know everything that's wrong with me? Is _this_ to be my life? I am discontented. I am alone. My only ambition, apparently, is to please my father for the rest of my life! I have money, I have fans, I have my youth, a bloody Aston Martin, and I'm still unhappy. What a selfish bastard I am!"

"Fuck him," Yuushi said quietly. "Fuck your dad. You're not living for him."

Atobe couldn't reply for a minute. Then he composed himself with some difficulty, and the first thing he did was apologize for the outburst.

"It feels like the only reason I called you was to complain. This isn't what you deserve after going so long without the privilege of talking to me."

"Keigo," Oshitari said. "You know me better than that. Are you crying?"

"No," Keigo said. "I'm not."

"I still have time to buy the ticket - "

"Just stay in Osaka, your patients won't wait until you return."

"All right. Call me tomorrow morning."

"... Thank you."

"Always, Captain," Oshitari replied, using Atobe's old title in middle school and high school. He then hung up with a click.

Atobe took a deep breath and got out of the car, locking it and pocketing the keys. He walked to the elevator.

In the time it took for the elevator to reach his floor, he undid his tie, took off his blazer and folded both properly. He also took out his apartment keys.

He didn't think about anything as he mechanically unlocked the door, stepped in, and locked it behind him. What he was doing was following his routine, so he could do it unconsciously.

There was a remote lying on the coffee table beside the couch in the living room that controlled hidden speakers in the apartment. He picked it up and pressed a button on it. Wagner's _Tannhäuser Overture_ began to play. The maid, who came in after he left for the office and left before he returned from it, had cleaned up in his absence - arranged his plates, put the phone back in its place, and had vacuumed everything (it was all gleaming).

Good.

He sat down on the couch and, not undressing yet, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt. Slung his arms over the back of the couch and crossed his legs. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, focusing on the music.

There were tears in his eyes when the piece ended. He soon drifted off without bothering to move or shut the player off.

* * *

As soon as he opened his eyes, he knew he was in a dream. A very vivid, realistic dream, perhaps.

For one, he was not an adult anymore. He was in a room - technically his old room at the Atobe mansion, seeing as it resembled exactly the living space he had had in school - and his Hyotei tennis uniform was neatly folded at the end of the king-sized bed.

He hadn't worn that uniform for years. Of course this was a dream. How could it not be?

Slowly, he got out of bed and went into the bathroom adjoining his room to brush his teeth and wash his face. Then, he returned to his room and dressed in the clothes laid on the bed, particularly savouring the feel of his familiar Hyotei jacket. The watch on his bedside table read six ten. He strapped it to his wrist.

There was a knock on the open door. It was Michael, his butler.

"Breakfast is ready, Master Keigo," he enunciated. "Your favourite has been prepared."

Keigo nodded, the stab of nostalgia disorienting. Slowly, he followed the butler out of the room, raising a hand in acknowledgement to all the maids and manservants who greeted him, standing in a line on either side of the corridor. His parents weren't home. He deduced that much from the empty master bedroom he passed on his way. Usually they had breakfast with him despite the early hour at which he awoke. Or maybe this dream hadn't accommodated them like it had Michael, or the rest of the workers. Atobe took every chance he could to drink in this fragment of his earlier life, observing all the decorations in the dining hall, the perfect plate arrangements on the table, the face of his butler, the exquisite food. He couldn't quite accept all of it. It was a dream! A dream so rich it felt like he was reliving a part of his past. As if he had been transported back in time.

He ate slower than he usually would have. When it was time for him to go for his daily run, he ran with abandon, enjoying every second his legs burned, every time he found himself short of breath.

Oh, the morning practice. The ten laps each club member ran around the Hyotei campus. The special practice for the regulars. The continuous bantering between Shishido and Gakuto. Yuushi sneaking peeks at his phone every fifteen serves. Kabaji and his quiet, comforting presence. Ootori trying to wake Jirou up. Hiyoshi playing with complete concentration. Atobe wished it wasn't a dream.

When it ended and they had changed into their regular school uniforms, Yuushi walked over to Atobe. "Guess who asked me out today?" he asked as they walked together towards the main campus.

Atobe vaguely muttered the name of some girl he recalled who had been Oshitari's girlfriend in high school for a year.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised, I'm irresistible."

"Don't mistreat her, Oshitari." General advice that he should have followed himself in high school.

"I would never," Oshitari said, genuinely surprised. "Are you saying this because you're feeling guilty about your current spat with the Seigaku brat?"

Hearing those words, it was like lightning had struck Atobe. He froze completely. He had completely forgotten that his ex-boyfriend might also feature in this dream. God. Oh, God. Suddenly he was breathless again. He looked at Yuushi, lost for words.

"Current spat?" he asked after giving his words thought.

"Yeah, something about you not spending enough time with him, and flirting with people left and right. You were the one who told me, don't you remember?" Yuushi had a quizzical expression on his face. Atobe mutely shook his head. "I expect the argument will be resolved today, though."

"It better. You love him to bits, and I'd hate to have Mukahi complaining his ear off about how he lost his bet against Ryou."

Atobe chuckled wryly. "I _do_ love him to bits." In the hallway, his fans clustered for their morning fill of his face, and cheered loud enough to bring the school down when he gave them a half-smile before walking into his class, 3-A. As they bid their goodbyes, Yuushi whispered to Keigo:

"This isn't a dream."

And then he left for 3-H.

* * *

Certainly dreams couldn't possibly last this long. Would Atobe forget most of it once he woke up? He _was_ asleep, yes?

Regardless of whether or not it was reality, when Atobe strutted towards where he recalled his limousine always idled outside the campus after the after-school practice had ended, he discovered none other than Echizen Ryoma waiting for him. He was leaning against the thrumming car, and a can of his favourite disgusting grape soda was in his hand.

Their eyes met.

"Hey," Ryoma said. "Give me a ride to your house?"

"Of course," Keigo replied. Ryoma opened the door and slid inside, Keigo following him. Ryoma put the soda can in a small car bin. Keigo remembered he had had it installed solely for Ryoma's soda cans.

It was quiet and cool inside the humming car. Atobe rapped on the opaque partition separating the passenger seats and the driver, and he began to drive. They didn't speak to each other much for the initial few minutes. Atobe honestly didn't know what to say. In his mind, Echizen was the ex-boyfriend who he hadn't talked to since... years. The Ryoma in front of his eyes was his lover, and had been for at least half a decade.

Keigo wanted to break the silence, but it was so stifling he couldn't get a word out. There was so much he wanted to say to the person who he had left after high school. The person who he had loved wholly before abandoning. But the present quarrel between them would not let him speak.

Then he saw Ryoma's hand inching towards his on the seat. Something inside him broke.

He reached for Ryoma and pulled him into his lap (in high school as in middle school, he remained short as ever) and, holding him close, kissed him.

Keigo kissed Ryoma deeply, grasping his arms, then his waist, then cupping his face, running his hands down Ryoma's sides, wrapping his arms around him. Ryoma kissed him back equally hard, his hands on Keigo's thighs and his knees on either side of Keigo's. Keigo couldn't get _enough_ \- he pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, not letting Ryoma catch his breath before he started kissing down Ryoma's neck. He still had a tight hold on Ryoma, who began to squirm as Keigo's kisses reached his collarbone.

"Monkey King!"

"I _love _you, I love _you_, _I_ love you, _I love you_, I love you." He couldn't say it just once. He had to say it now for all the times he hadn't.

"Mo - Monkey King, aah, not in the _limo_ \- " For Atobe was back to ravishing Ryoma's mouth. He had gone years without touching Ryoma. In this dream, at least, he wanted to break that dubious record.

Ryoma breathed out as Keigo pressed his face into Ryoma's skin and closed his eyes.

They remained like that, still as they could be with the limousine's motion jostling them, Keigo inhaling and exhaling, Ryoma feeling every breath on him.

"Sorry I didn't talk to you this whole week," Ryoma volunteered after a while, sounding vaguely guilty. "I was just kind of angry that you, I don't know, treat me like I'm an extra in Hyotei's two hundred non-regulars. Sorry. You're still pretty and I still like your stupid hair."

"Just don't leave again," Atobe whispered, unmoving, eyes closed. "I was at fault, and I shouldn't be flirting with people left and right when I could be flirting with you. I'll find time for you in my schedule. I love you."

"So sappy," Ryoma muttered as if he was annoyed with Keigo's confession, but his hands moved from Keigo's thighs to his hair and he shuffled closer to him with his knees. "Kiss me again."

"Anything you want," Keigo sighed, and kissed him again. He was such a lucky man.

Ryoma snickered as he broke the kiss and pulled his cap off. "You were about to _cry_," he said. "You were going to sob like a baby just now because you thought I'd left you."

Atobe merely nodded. The mirth in Ryoma's eyes dimmed. "As if I would ever _want_ to leave you. I don't know, Monkey King, I could mess with you all day long and you'd let me. I could demand the world from you and you'd give me two of it. You're kind of handsome, and almost as good at tennis as I am. You still take me back after each argument."

"But I still have a ways to go," Atobe said. "Don't I?"

He was smiling. Ryoma laughed. "I'm really sorry, though, Keigo. I get it, you've got a lot on your plate but I know you love me so I'm not gonna get jealous or possessive or anything - "

"May I kiss you once more?"

"Yes, you may," Ryoma said in English, in an affectation of Keigo's accent when he spoke English. Keigo smiled again. His heart hurt.

The limo rumbled to a stop outside the mansion. They got out of the car and hurried to Keigo's bedroom. On the bed, they kissed each other leisurely for hours, with their arms secure around the other. Keigo didn't want to let go. It hurt. It really hurt. He wanted it to last forever.

It was ten-thirty when they finally went to sleep. Atobe was catching up on his non-alcoholic champagne and Wagner at his study desk, while Ryoma was reading a magazine on the bed and pretending he was actually reading it and not stealing affectionate glances at Keigo.

"Aichi Hotaru is a bad choice," Atobe mumbled through a swig of champagne, hoping that Ryoma had heard, and at the same time, hoping Ryoma hadn't.

"Who?"

"No one," Atobe said, as if Aichi was no one.

"Fine. I'll keep that in mind if I ever meet this Aichi person. Tennis?"

"Yes," Atobe said, and hated himself for remembering.

"Come to bed and go to sleep, ne, Monkey King. Bet you haven't slept properly at all this week."

"I haven't," Atobe said truthfully, for he hadn't had one peaceful night in high school.

Ryoma looked at him guiltily. "Sorry, Monkey King."

Keigo let Ryoma curl up around him, and went straight to sleep, hoping the dream would still continue and he could still continue to express his love for the one asleep in his arms.

* * *

It was not to be so.

Atobe jerked awake. His first action was examining the room around him. It was a brightly lit, impersonal apartment living room, with his suit for the day hanging outside his bedroom door. So he was no longer in the dream. It _had_ been a dream.

A wave of intense grief overcame him.

He found himself with his face in his hands for the second time in two days. It felt like something great had slipped out of his fingers just when he had grasped it, and the resultant pain was so sharp.

Instantly all the emotion he had tamped down within himself was exploding in him. All the memories, good and bad, all the pain and love that he had suppressed for years was tumbling out of a hidden corner of his heart, and suddenly Echizen Ryoma was a fixture in his thoughts again. A single fucking dream broke all the locks and barriers he had erected.

But he wasn't Atobe Keigo without his composure and strength. He called Yuushi like he had promised the day before, and slowly pulled himself off the couch, stretching, and prepared for a Friday business day.

(Black suit with a dark red shirt and a deep grey tie.)

* * *

The stress he was facing was exacerbated when he received a phone call from his father in the middle of the car ride to his office.

"Keigo, I simply must let you know before you begin your day. I do not wish to interrupt you later, when you'll be making your preparations."

"I understand. What did you want to tell me?"

"Your mother has _finally_ put her foot down, Keigo. And I would apologize to you for the suddenness and the forcefulness if I did not stand with her."

Keigo had a deep sense of foreboding. It was as if the walls were closing in on Keigo's life. He could feel threads being cut. He closed his eyes, ready for the bombshell.

"We have found you a most suitable bride, and will not entertain any objections on your part this time. She is a good woman, can keep up with you, and has agreed to the marriage."

Keigo released the breath he had been holding. That was it. Finished. Done. Over. He couldn't have run from his over-concerned mother's planning forever.

"Fine," he said, curt. "Fine."

"Take the Gulfstream to London this evening, for she has consented to dinner with you there tomorrow night. Check your email, Keigo, and don't be late. Let the media cover it if they catch hold of it... which I'm sure they will."

Oh, of course. Because Keigo was to simply roll over and obey. His life was more or less decided for him without his having any say in the matter, and his worries had shifted from Father's old business partners to Father himself in the span of _three days_.

Because he was, apparently, expected to still look fresh and effortlessly handsome after the more-than-half-a-day long flight that was in store for him. Expected to take the news that he would have a _wife_ in mere months, lying down. Having _a child_ with her, regardless of whether or not she was even compatible with him.

"Fine," he said a third time, and let his father end the call.

He was supposed to meet the two clients from the other day at Shibuya in the afternoon. Before that, he was supposed to wrap up a draft regarding the financial investment they wanted from his company - and now he was distracted, unfocused, left wanting for a tennis racket to hold.

(He always forgot everything else in his life when he held a tennis racket. It was his escape mechanism.)

Egawa noticed the terrible mood immediately, and her sympathy (and knowledge of the matter) must have been clear on her face, for Atobe had to restrain himself from snapping at her when she told him he had received an itinerary on his business email from his father regarding the dinner with -

"Sekine Chiaki-sama."

He recogized the name. He should have known. His parents were obnoxious in this regard - choosing marriage partners only from the daughters of their pool of rich, respectable associates - and he had familiarized himself with each when he had been but a child in his father's dinner parties. Fuck.

He had no choice but to give up.

"All right. Make the necessary arrangements for this evening."

She nodded quietly. She had been his assistant for over a year. She knew of his sexual orientation, she knew of the partners he occasionally took home, she understood that very few in the world were aware of what she had been allowed to discover. She respected that privacy and considered keeping his secret an honour.

And now, she pitied him despite knowing that Atobe Keigo was a man who simply could _not_ be pitied.

The day went by as planned. Atobe finished the draft, had the exquisite lunch and flatter-party, returned home early to pack for the three or so days he was to spend in London (some things he did himself, some things he let people do for him. Packing was one of the former) and reached the airport in time.

When he landed in London at two pm, the first thing he did was check into a hotel. Egawa had reserved a suite for him already at the very place he was to meet Sekine. After letting the receptionist know he was to wake up at five pm, he fell soundly asleep on the bed, faintly hoping for a dream like he had had the day before.

He was disappointed when he was woken up by the expected phone call from the hotel reception and realized that his sleep had been deep, but dreamless. Disappointment, actually, was an understatement for what he felt. He was dejected, yet he soldiered on. He was helpless, yet he put on his mask.

Atobe took a shower at leisure, and then dressed himself in one of his business suits that he had brought along with him. It was at times like these that he was reminded of the childhood he had spent in Michael's care - that he had chosen to forego the pampering to live independently, devoid of most of his father's shadow.

He then phoned both his father and Egawa to inform them he had reached the hotel, confirmed a couple of details, and then made his way over to the designated place - a restaurant within the hotel. He was quite early, they were slated to make their acquaintance at seven pm, but he was past caring.

A waiter showed him to his table, and removed the _Reserved -_ _Atobe Keigo - Sekine Chiaki_ placard once he took his seat.

All that was left to do was wait.

His father had sent a photo of Sekine along with the itinerary so he would recognize her at sight. She was beautiful, and even if her photo was made of collections of millions and billions of electrons, she exuded grace. Atobe wondered if she had agreed willingly.

* * *

As soon as Sekine Chiaki entered the restaurant and saw him, sitting quietly, she smiled at him with genuine happiness. Atobe smiled back at her, and rose to his feet as she approached him.

"Hello, Atobe-kun. Pleased to meet you," she said as she neared him and extended her hand.

Atobe shook hands with her, but did not kiss the back of her hand. She did not expect him to. "You look stunning, Sekine," he murmured, looking straight into her eyes and waiting for her to sit down. She nodded, accepting the compliment graciously. She truly looked resplendent in her dark blue evening gown.

"Do sit," she said once she was in her chair. "We have much to talk about."

Atobe observed her as they made small talk and ordered their meal. She had long sleek black hair that fell past her shoulders. She was calm and confident, and had deep golden eyes, just like Ryoma. Her lips resembled Ryoma's, and her demeanor was like his, and when she laughed, she did not break eye contact and spoke freely once she was at ease, just like...

He spent the entire dinner comparing her to Echizen, feeling guilty even as he noted her piercing stare -

"You seem occupied," she finally said after the dinner was over. They had grown very comfortable with each other, but not once had they discussed the marriage.

"Captivated by your beauty, no doubt," Atobe replied glibly.

She smirked. "You say such flattering things! I'll enjoy life with you, I'm sure."

"Did you agree to this marriage willingly, Sekine?"

The question perceptibly shocked Sekine; Atobe rarely jumped the gun like this, but he had to know.

She pondered the question. Atobe watched her.

"More or less," she mused. He waited.

"I have a girlfriend, Keigo, who my mother and father desperately want to cut out of my life," she said in low tones, easily transitioning to the intimate first-name address. "Do you understand the pain of having rich orthodox parents?"

Keigo nodded slowly.

"I complied with their... _request_ in the hopes of reaching an agreement with you in which I could continue my relationship with her while sparing your feelings." Her gaze was searching and hesitant.

Atobe was speechless for a moment. _Excellent._

"Of course," he replied. "That would work out well for me, too. Anything you want, _darling._"

She immediately lost the hesitance and laughed at the _darling_. "There must be a car outside the hotel for me by now and doubtless the paps, too. Do you want to 'see me off' and go outside to get photographed by those hungry vult- "

"By all means, let's," Atobe interrupted her before she could finish the word and shock everyone in the vicinity. They got up together after Atobe signed a check for the dinner and walked to the entrance arm-in-arm, as if Atobe's intention was to sincerely see her off.

She was right; the paparazzi had been waiting, and they were flooded by camera flashes as soon as they exited the hotel.

Atobe and Sekine, already the perfect photogenic couple, presented sunny smiles to the cameras for a second before she took his hand and led him to a white limousine that was rumbling close to the entrance but not too close so as to hinder others. The chauffeur immediately jumped out of the car and opened the door for Sekine, who squeezed Atobe's hand once in goodbye and turned to step into the car.

Atobe, on impulse, pulled her to him and wordlessly asked for a kiss, looking into her eyes and placing his hand on her back. She leaned upwards, consenting.

It was a near-perfect movie kiss. The "hungry vultures" couldn't get enough.

Continuing with the act, Sekine reluctantly pulled away and leaned her head on his shoulder, before finally entering the car. Atobe watched her leave. He couldn't decide what was to become of his life, whether the dinner was a success or not.

The kiss made headlines, global newspapers were filled with rumours about the couple, and Atobe's parents were _very_ pleased.

Just days after the incident, when Keigo was back to work, his email program notified him that his personal account had an unread message. Keigo looked at the name of the sender - Echizen Ryoma - and opened the email.

_Who the fuck is Sekine Chiaki?_

Atobe deleted that message, too.

* * *

Echizen Ryoma got married to Aichi Hotaru two weeks later in a semi-public function in the US. Aichi was practically crying with joy, looking radiant in her wedding dress. Ryoma wore a tuxedo and forewent his cap.

He smiled throughout the ceremony, even during the customary kiss, but his eyes were never truly focused on Aichi - his eyes kept searching the crowd for someone who was not present.

Yuushi let Keigo drink him under the table in Tokyo, drove him home, and stayed with him till morning of the next day, holding him in his arms as Keigo sobbed and sobbed into his chest, full of regret, heartbreak, and sadness.

* * *

Life went back to normal for Keigo after that: overworking himself to the point of collapse, talking to Yuushi (who knew about the pretence with Sekine) every other week, ensuring tea flowed through his blood vessels, making business partners happy. His parents left him alone now.

This 'normal' life, however, was interspersed with meetings between him and Sekine. They got engaged in a private ceremony that only immediate family on both sides attended, settled on a date for the wedding, and met on Sundays to get spotted 'on dates' and plan the event.

They sent out invitations for the wedding. Atobe had one sent to Echizen, too, and made sure there was no spite in his personal message to him: _Do attend, and bring Aichi with you_.

Congratulations, along with RSVPs, started pouring in from all sides - all of Atobe's old schoolmates and tennis rivals, his college friends and professors, all his clients, all his father's clients, his family friends were eager to let him know just how much they were happy he was finally settling down. If Atobe had been busy earlier, he was positively _swamped_ now.

But at least it helped take his mind off thoughts about Ryoma that tended to rip him apart.

There were times when he went to sleep and had dreams of his past life with Ryoma. Like the first dream, they were extremely realistic and Keigo remembered each whenever he awoke.

He was always aware that they were dreams. That awareness was a source of hurt for him, but it gave him the chance to relive his life in high school quite differently from how it had actually transpired.

He played tennis in some of those dreams. With Echizen. Exchanging witty comments and kissing after every game. He treasured Ryoma and made sure Ryoma knew.

Each time he woke up, he became a little more haggard, a little more sad. But he never wished for them to stop.

It was as if the dreams were all the opportunities to show Ryoma his love that he had lost in middle and high school. He never did anything to get rid of those dreams. He never visited a doctor.

Occasionally, he woke up at night to find he had been crying in his sleep. Then he would cry awake, for each time he arose was a realization that the lost opportunities were exactly that - lost. Never coming back. That the perfect world he entered at night was not real and that he would still be in a meaningless marriage and working to satisfy someone else when he woke up. That maybe he would remain in this hell for the rest of his life, unless by a miracle Ryoma returned to him.

What if he had known, on that day when it had been extremely hot and the birds had said _cheep cheep_ in his mind, that he would come to a point in his life where he was having dreams about his tennis star ex-boyfriend who he still loved, but getting married to someone who was using him to placate her parents? What if he had known on that day when Egawa threatened to quit?

It was so hard to remain standing in the face of such regret.

* * *

Keigo and Chiaki lived separately, still. There was a lot of time left till the wedding, and they had clearly, firmly told their parents they would not dream of living together, not for now, at least.

Hence, Keigo had his apartment to himself and would not have to partake in the awkwardness of either sleeping on the couch or on the bed with someone who was more or less a stranger.

It was a rare Saturday night. Rare, because Keigo took Saturday off from work for the first time in three years. Saturday was not a business day, but was a day where Keigo often caught up with any projects he had put on the back-burner throughout the week.

He was sitting in the living room, watching tennis matches and drinking non-alcoholic champagne (the habit had never really left) on the television, when the doorbell rang. He got up and shuffled over to the door, pulling it open without bothering to look through the peephole.

He found a tennis player staring at him. He wasn't as short as Keigo remembered, but he still had to look down.

"What do you want," Atobe said dully. He was exhausted even after a day of doing nothing. And he was definitely not in any condition to talk to the person he had been heartbroken over for so many years.

"Che, Monkey King, at least let me in," Echizen said, frowning.

Atobe stepped aside. Echizen stepped in.

"Nice place," he commented, giving the spacious apartment a once-over. "Sekine home?"

"If, by home you mean her own residence and not this place, then yes. Didn't anyone recognize you on the streets outside?"

"Funny how a black cap instead of a white one and a pair of aviators can hide you from everyone." The objects in question were placed on the coffee table.

"Why aren't you with your wife in the US?"

Echizen, who had already comfortably situated himself upon the sofa, said:

"Fuck off, that's none of your business."

Atobe shrugged when Echizen looked over at him. "All right. There's high-quality beer in the fridge, non-alcoholic champagne in there as well, and nothing to eat unless you want to spend an hour cooking. Help yourself, I'm going to sleep. Good night."

"Hey, Keigo - "

Atobe shook his head. "Weren't you the one to tell me you would end up making out with me on my office table? What would stop you from doing the same here, hm? Oh, of course, you don't want to cheat on _Aichi._ I confess myself unable to see the point in staying awake for no reason at all."

"Monkey King! I just wanna clear some stuff with you. About our past."

Atobe stopped. He gave Ryoma a long, searching look. Ryoma gazed back at him, not an ounce of mockery or hatred in his eyes.

"All right," Atobe said. "What did you want to talk about?" He did not go closer.

"It was my fault too."

When Atobe didn't say anything, Ryoma continued. "It wasn't just you messing things up. And I came here to apologize to you. I'm sorry I broke up with you the way I did."

(Tongue-fucking Fuji Syuusuke's mouth and _waving_ Atobe off when he found out via Fuji himself.)

Atobe still didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry. Just know that I won't cheat on Hotaru the way I cheated on you."

"Well, that's not very meaningful now, is it?" Atobe said.

"Yeah. I know. But... I guess, in school... it was good, we were good while it lasted."

What a fucking dialogue. Straight out of a terrible movie. It broke Atobe's resolve to not comment on anything.

"It was _heavenly_," Atobe snapped. "It was everything I could have desired. I loved you, I cherished you. As my father's son I had duties to perform, responsibilities to fulfil, and hence I might not have seen you as much as I wanted to. Rest assured you're still punishing me after all these years. The consequences of my actions left me traumatized to the point where even now I have dreams about how I could have been better to you. Where I did not find the strength to attend your wedding and instead drank myself stupid a continent away. I _loved_ you. Have a good fucking night. You may show yourself out."

Such empty anger in front of Echizen, when behind his back Atobe was but a mess.

"Damn it! Listen. Listen to me." Ryoma stood up, but did not approach him.

Atobe sighed, feeling the edge of a cliff under his toes. He could go backwards or fall off it. He could leave himself open to more hurt or shut himself off from Ryoma. Which selfish decision would he make? How long would he keep wounding himself?

"Do you love Sekine?" Echizen asked. "Do you love her the way you loved me?"

Atobe stepped off the cliff.

"Yes," he lied.

Ryoma froze, having expected an entirely different answer.

He sank back onto the sofa with his face in his hands.

"I must congratulate you. You are a tennis player at the peak of your career, have a beautiful wife, and have finally reached a conclusion regarding the one bad thing in your past. I am proud of you and your progress," Atobe said, steeling himself.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Atobe sat down beside him, keeping a careful distance between them.

"If it matters, I love you infinitely more," he whispered without thinking, and immediately berated himself inwardly. He ended up reversing the lie after all. Was he off the cliff or was he on it?

Ryoma exhaled. "It wasn't a bad thing at all. You were the best thing to ever happen to me, Monkey King. You were, and are, the love of my life."

"Ryoma, you - "

"I know. So much for not cheating on Hotaru, right?"

There was quiet in the living room. Each resigned himself to his fate.

"I don't wanna go, you know?" Ryoma said, leaning back and turning his head to gaze at him. He had a silly little sad smile on his face. "I don't wanna go out of this apartment right now, because it feels like if I do, I'll only ever see you on TV again. I want to have you right in front of me forever. Where I could just put my hand out and touch you - " he extended his arm and took Keigo's hand in his own, and Keigo interlocked their fingers with a twinge of nostalgia - "like this. I mean, I wish I could go back in time and fix everything."

Atobe shook his head. "I know all too well the futility of such a wish."

Ryoma sighed. "Would you sponsor me for all my forthcoming tournaments? It'd be an excuse for me to see you frequently."

"Gladly," Atobe said, unwilling to let go of Ryoma's hand tightly grasping his own. "Tell your agent to contact me personally."

"I love you," Ryoma said again. "I wish I could kiss you. You're still so handsome and good, just as you were in school, even if you're not narcissistic anymore."

Keigo stood up, finally releasing Ryoma's hand. "What a fruitless love we share."

Ryoma swallowed, rising with him. He walked to the door and shut it behind him without looking back. Atobe noticed he had 'forgotten' his black cap on the coffee table, but had taken the aviators.

He rested his fingers on the bill of the cap lightly, and then went to bed.

* * *

Keigo and Chiaki's married life was quiet - as quiet as that of a celebrity couple could get, that is. There was more than enough space for Chiaki in Keigo's apartment, and they did not wish to spend money on needlessly lavish mansions. She moved in on a sunny day, when the birds truly were chirping and everything was brighter than usual.

They considered each other confidantes, best friends. Sometimes she let Keigo lie down on the sofa with his head on her lap, and they talked about love; about how they both loved people they couldn't have in the way they wanted, while she ran her fingers through his hair slow enough to lull Keigo to sleep.

She continued her relationship with her girlfriend and even introduced her to Atobe. Keigo sought contentment in Ryoma's physical presence in the frequent sponsorship meetings they had. He returned to the world of modelling - to the ardent joy of his fans.

It was in a photoshoot in the US for a clothing brand that he came into contact with Aichi Hotaru again. As she posed with him in formal wear yet again in front of a rich blue background, she murmured: "You really should ask him to come back to you. Even after all these years, he'll come willingly. He'll always, always return to you."

Atobe murmured back, "Is it not unfair to you?"

Aichi tilted her head back in an arrogant fashion, reminiscent of Atobe himself in his school days, and replied, "He won't ever love me. I've come to terms with it. Him being happy with _you_ isn't fair to me, but nor is it unfair because he'll be happy and that's what I want, you know? What is life without sacrifices and compromises anyway?"

Keigo snorted lightly, readjusting his stance to complement hers, haughty stare into the camera lens, glowing with his own radiant light.

"What is life without sacrifices and compromises, indeed."

The cameras began to flash.


End file.
